


Last of Me.  1/1.

by punky_96



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 14:49:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13483758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Re-post from LJ.Last of Me.  DWP.  Miranda/Andy.  G.  Angsty based on the song lyrics from "You Haven't Seen the Last of Me" (Cher in Burlesque) and "Vindicated" (Dashboard Confessional).  Totally canon Paris including the phone in the fountain.  But there's hope dangling from a string at the end.  Words:  1069.written for Damelola's comment ficathon in 2011...  https://dvlwears-prada.livejournal.com/1763464.html#cutid1





	Last of Me.  1/1.

_**  
Last of Me. Part 1/1.**_  
  
 _I’ve been brought down to my knees_  
 _And I’ve been pushed way past the point of breaking_  
 _But I can take it_  
 _I’ll be back_  
 _Back on my feet_  
 _This is far from over_  
 _I am far from over_  
 _You haven’t seen the last of me_  
  
Her heart beat on wings that were threatening to carry it out of her chest as she looked over the podium into the crowd. Her eyes sought out Andrea and Nigel. She could only hope that Andrea would remember the woman in the grey bathrobe, she had let her see the previous night. It was the only thing that could save what was still unnamed between them. Their eyes caught in an instant and the repulsion was clear in Andrea’s eyes. The stab of pain that sliced through her heart sent her hopes plummeting like Icarus on faltering wings.  
  
Andrea turned to Nigel and Miranda’s eyes followed her. His tight smile and half-hearted claps left a gap of sunlight streaming into Miranda’s heart. The years of friendship surely had to count for something. He had always been in her corner before and even he could see that she had been on the ropes. His nod gave nothing away but it was the only bastion of hope she had left to cling to.  
  
He turned to speak to Andrea and Miranda let her eyes find each of her would-be foes.  
  
Irv. He only thought he had seen the claws of the dragon. Miranda focused her eyes on him like the aiming of a rifle and he shivered in his seat. His grave at Elias-Clark had just been dug and he didn’t know how, but he knew it with the certainty of the blood still pulsing in his veins. Miranda noted that she would finally need that file in the third drawer of her desk at home.  
  
Jacqueline. ‘Cherie.’ Miranda pursed her lips. It would be too easy. Shame about James. Then she remembered that hideous bow and mentally shrugged.   
  
Done with the nonsense, Miranda mentally joined the brunch again. The mask of the editor firmly in place, she rode the various waves of politics and fashion until she could leave. Her conversation with Andrea was regrettable. Speaking as the editor clinging to her job was not the way to reach her ingénue. Looking back for Andrea only to find a solid wall of reporters pushed her way past the point of breaking. If she was not firmly ensconced in her dragonlady persona and hidden so well behind those glasses, she would have been brought down to her knees.  
  
After the show the silence of the car felt like a tomb.  
  
It was the afternoon in the city of romance and she found Nigel in the hotel bar. Not only did he let her sit next to him, he bought her a drink. “I didn’t know what they were up to,” he said as he clinked his glass against hers. The quiet comment a benediction to her weary heart.  
  
Releasing the breath she didn’t know she had sucked in, Miranda met his admission with her own, “You couldn’t run Mens’ Runway from James Holt’s back room.” She clinked his glass back as she took a healthy sip.  
  
“Indeed.” Nigel took a long sip from his glass as well, glad that he had not given in to his initial reactions earlier in the day.  
  
The silence settled in around them like the cold chill of a house without heating. They each sipped their drinks stranded separately. It was not comfortable, but it was not suffocating. It just was—like so much water under the bridge between them. They would walk off the battlefield scarred, but still comrades in arms.  
  
“She hasn’t left.” Nigel announced quietly before taking his last swallow. Miranda audibly sucked in a breath of air. Nigel turned on the stool and looked at her profile. Her eyes were squeezed shut tight and he hoped that she wouldn’t cry. They weren’t quite back on good footing yet. He pulled a blue passport out of his inner pocket and slid it next to her glass on the bar. “There’s no rush getting back.” He added as he slipped off the stool and off into the dark interior of the hotel.  
  
Miranda downed the rest of her drink in one go and flipped the passport open. She had to swallow hard as Andrea’s brown eyes peered at her from the glossy page in front of her. This was far from over. Miranda fished out some Euros letting them land on the bar as she stood and made her way to the concierge. Miranda couldn’t remember the last time she had been in Paris just to enjoy it. She couldn’t think of a better time to try.  
  
Miranda didn’t know what Andrea would think coming back to her room to find her barefoot in the grey hotel bathrobe waiting for her. Miranda wasn’t too sure what she thought of it either as the minutes ticked by in the empty room. However, Miranda understood that sometimes you must tread out in order to find what you can handle, and that sometimes treading back was not an option and one had to bravely carry on to the other side—hell or high water, so to speak. So much between them was unsaid before, and now with a cavern of misunderstanding widening that gap Miranda knew that she simply had to brace herself and get to the other side. Standing before her stripped of the job and the façade, she had the best chance of reaching out to Andrea.  
  
Andrea was worth letting all the walls down. She was worth explaining when she never had before.  
  
Miranda paced the room letting all of her emotions come out to play. She did not hide the track marks of tears, nor did she try to hide from the thoughts that caused them. The time for that was done. It was time to mourn the shell of life she had with Stephen, the passing of the known evils of Irv and Jacqueline, and the feeling of time against her once again. It was also the time to stand tall and embrace the newness of what Runway could be with obstacles removed from its path, and to embrace what her life could be like if she took the time to live in it more with her girls, and if Andrea would have her, with a new lover.  
  
At last the door opened and she was greeted with a gasp, “Miranda.” The question and concern in the tone were all that Miranda needed to see this through to the happy end.  
  
 _Hope dangles on a string_  
 _Like slow spinning redemption_  
 _Winding in and winding out_  
 _The shine of it has caught my eye_  
  
 _And roped me in_  
 _So mesmerizing, so hypnotizing_  
 _I am captivated_  
  
 __ ***** The End. *****


End file.
